Of Love And Other Things
by TheCrownprincessBride
Summary: After the war, the Wizarding world has changed. This is all about finding love in this new, strange world, where, suddenly, everything is possible. AU. Tenth Chapter: Theo x Luna "Where she was light, he was dark; and still, he loved her."
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Welcome to the first installment of this series: all about First Dates. I hope you enjoy it. Please, leave me your thoughts!**

 **Thank you to** **Beckintime, 2DaughtersOfAthena, and AelysAlthea for betaing!**

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. This applies to all following chapters.

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The Worst First Date Ever

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 _I can't believe I'm doing this_ , I repeat to myself while walking along the street towards the restaurant we're to meet at. _What are you thinking, Percy?_

It seems as though I haven't been thinking at all. The nearer I get to the restaurant, the worse the idea appears to be. It's just … he seemed so lost at Draco and Hermione's engagement party. He looked as lost as I felt. Since Oliver had broken up with me – because he wanted to concentrate on his career at Puddlemere United, and a _boy_ friend apparently wasn't conducive to pursuing it – I haven't really been the same. The way Oliver had said it made it sound like I was the problem; like he was ashamed of me.

It broke me like I had never been broken before.

And now, I'm walking straight to my next disappointment, I suppose. _Why have I agreed to this again?_ I ask myself when I turn the corner.

There he stands, and I know why. The insecure expression on his face while he's waiting outside – unsure if I would show up at all, half-expecting to be left in the lurch – jolts right through me. Then he sees me and his face lights up. All the emotions I can see mirrored in his eyes this one second – disbelief and joy, panic and hope – confirm that I made the right decision.

I took a chance with this. And even if it turns out to be a horrible date, a terrible evening, I can be proud of myself for showing up at all.

Oliver hadn't been the only one having a hard time accepting my sexual orientation – or rather denying it. My mother pretended for the whole year of my relationship with Oliver that it was 'just a phase' and I would grow out of it, find a nice girl – "Penelope Clearwater is still single, my dear!" – marry her, and have lots and lots of children. Then, I stopped going to the Sunday dinners. I couldn't bear the thought of being a disappointment to her; a disappointment to my whole family.

But I won't deny who I am for them or for my career. Not like _other people_.

"Hi," Theo calls out and walks towards me to greet me. "I'm glad you showed up."

I try to smile, but it feels like a grimace. "Me too." My eyes glide over his handsome features, his charcoal hair, and his expensive robes that emphasise his lanky body. He's actually a bit taller than me, I realise.

I tug insecurely at the hem of my robes that aren't half as nice and expensive as his are. My gaze wanders to the restaurant, and for the first time I really notice it. _The Lunar Palace_. One of the most expensive Wizarding restaurants in London.

"That's where we going?" I stutter, surprised. Theo wouldn't tell me the restaurant, just owled me the address. He wanted to surprise me, he said.

A proud smile dances on his lips. "Yes! I can't believe I actually managed to get a table."

I nod. I can't believe it either. "But … this is …" My gaze flickers back to his face. "Too much," I conclude. I can't afford this restaurant. Probably the wine alone would take up my dinner budget.

Theo bites his lip. The proud expression vanishes and is replaced by one of guilt. "I didn't think about that…" he swallows. "I'll pay, of course."

"Nonsense," I say and smile at him, because I don't want him to worry about my financial problems. "This was a great idea. I heard they have the best red wine in town."

He relaxes a little. "Blaise would agree on that. I haven't been here before, to be honest. I just followed recommendations."

"Then let's get some of this delicious wine," I say and open the door for him. A small smile flickers across his face as he enters. My heart pounds nervously in my chest.

 _Theodore Nott – really? Why in Merlin's name am I doing this?_ I ask myself again. All of it, from the lush carpet and the dressed-up waiters with the posh accent, to the polished silverware next to the plates and the hushed whispers, intimidate me. I feel the eyes of every single wizard in the room on me. I know I don't fit in here with my robes that probably cost as much as a single shoe of one of the other guests. I know I'm out of place with my glasses and my cheap haircut, with my red hair that betrays my heritage.

"… a Weasley," I hear whispered.

My eyes glide over the crowd of rich pure-bloods, trying to identify the culprit, but nobody meets my gaze. Theo looks decidedly uncomfortable as well after the maitre d' has disappeared. Only now do I realise it's not only me that's being stared at. It's _us_.

The hour and our behaviour make it clear that this is not a business meeting but something else entirely. _A date_. I can see their thoughts racing, trying to find a 'reasonable' conclusion: just two friends meeting; two men talking business; a school reunion.

I can feel how the realisation hits when our bottle of nineteen-eighty-nine Gaja Barbaresco arrives. The way we toast, the way Theo smiles at me, and the nervousness in our movements. The stares turn less polite, and my shoulders stiffen.

"Are you hungry?" Theo asks, trying to sound casual, but he feels it, too. The atmosphere has changed into something hostile.

"Not particularly," I answer, although only a moment ago I could have eaten a hippogriff. My insides have turned to ice.

Theo forces a smile. "But the recommendation sounds lovely, doesn't it?"

I glance at the menu. "Yes," I say, even though I don't care for Coronation Chicken right now. I can hear them whispering, feel them throwing disgusted glares at us. I can see the waiter watching us, as if deciding if he wants to attend to us at all.

I'm so tensed up that I don't even hear what Theo says next. Only when he touches my hand, I snap to attention.

"What?" I ask and flinch back.

I can see the rejection on his face, and, instantly, I regret my action. "I asked how that paper you told me about in your letter went along."

I swallow. "Fine. Nearly finished."

He nods stiffly. I can see him starting to regret this date. I don't want that. I don't want it to be a horrible date, because he deserves something good after all the things he has gone through after the war. From Hermione, I know that he's all alone. His father had died in prison, his mother long ago. He has no family, and his only friends seem to be Draco and Hermione. It is as though all his relationships never exactly worked out, just as mine hadn't.

I want this to work so badly. I know there is something between us, a deeper understanding and a spark of something more – not love yet, but something that could be love some day. Most of all, it's the loneliness, the lostness, that draws me to him. Maybe because I want to fill it and hope he will fill mine in return. I don't know, but I don't want to ruin it. I don't want to disappoint him like I've disappointed everyone else in my life.

"How has your week been? Have you found a location for Draco's wedding yet?" I choke out, nervously straightening my glasses.

He chuckles, but it sounds false. "No. They change their mind constantly about the size of the bloody wedding. I swear to you, if I marry, it will be a quiet affair. I don't know what got into me, offering them my help."

Before I can answer, the maitre d' appears with a sour look on his face. "Gentlemen, I'd appreciate it if you would finish your wine and pay. You are bothering our other customers."

My mouth falls open, and I close it with a loud _clack_. I look to Theo, and he seems frozen in shock. _He should be used to this treatment by now_ , I think. He'd been on the wrong side of the war, after all. Hermione had told me what Draco had suffered through, and it probably hadn't been any better for Theo.

"Has anyone made a complaint?" I ask politely. "If yes, I'd like to address them personally." I won't let myself be insulted by a homophobic bigot. I'm not shy of my sexuality. Actually, I'm proud of who I am, and I will not duck my head and accept disparagement and discrimination.

The maitre d' presses his lips together. "There have been several complaints, in fact. I'm afraid I can't tell you who made them since it would violate our restaurant's customer policy."

"And forcing someone out of you restaurant doesn't?" I counter coldly.

His gaze turns icy. "If you would please leave now," he demands, "or I get security."

I exchange glances with Theo, who is deathly pale and shaking slightly.

"Let's go," I say. "This wine isn't half as good as Blaise Zabini told us it is." I reach for the glass and 'accidentally' push it over, so dark red liquid spills all over the crisp, white table cloth.

"Mr. Zabini recommended it to you?" the maitre d' asks in a high voice, a nervous flickering in his eyes.

I shrug and stand up. With a smile at Theo, I confirm what the maitre d' is already thinking, "You made a mistake, by the way. I'm the Personal Assistant of the current Minister of Magic and my _boyfriend_ ," I put extra emphasis on the word and enjoy how the maitre d' winces, "is the best friend of the most influential pure-blood in London, Draco Malfoy, and his fiancée, Hermione Granger, the future Minister of Magic." I take Theo's hand and walk towards the door. Over my shoulder, I add, "We will make sure that no decent witch or wizard will ever visit your establishment again."

Then, we're outside. The cold evening air hits my heated face, and I draw my jacket closer around me. I feel so mad that it takes me a few moments to realise that Theo is no longer beside me. I turn and see him standing rooted to the spot in front of the restaurant.

"Are you all right?" I ask, walking back towards him. He stares at me.

"I …" he swallows. "I'm sorry. This was the most horrible date ever."

I grin lopsidedly. "True, admittedly. But at least we scared the living daylights out of them."

A wan smile sneaks onto his lips. "You were amazing. How could you be so calm and collected while they …" He shakes his head.

"Practice," I answer with a note of bitterness. "Come on. Let's not stand around. It's freezing."

I reach for his hand, and he only flinches slightly when I touch him. "I thought … I thought …" he stutters.

"That I'd go home now and leave you standing here? Not likely," I answer, feeling braver than I actually am. "Let's find a pub and have some beer and chips. What d'you say?"

He nods slowly. "Sounds … good."

We turn on the spot and disappear.

Later, when we sit in a small pub and enjoy our beer, Theo says, "I wanted to thank you. Nobody ever stood up for me like this." His fingers tighten around his glass. "I'm sorry I picked that restaurant. I wanted to impress you."

"I know," I reply, sipping my beer with forced casualness. I feel suddenly very clumsy. The words I want to say won't come out of my mouth.

But I don't have to say anything as he continues. "So you're not disappointed?"

"Of what? You? The date?" I shake my head. "No. I'm actually pleased and a bit surprised that we're still sitting here."

"Me too," Theo whispers barely audible over the noise in the pub, where nobody cares about us. "I'm glad …" The rest of the sentence is drowned in loud laughter from the neighbouring table, but I know what he meant. I feel it, too.

I lift my glass of beer and toast, "To many more dates to come. May they be better than the last."

He laughs and relaxes for the first time. His sapphire eyes sparkle, and his hands are no longer shaking when he sips from his beer. I take a swig of my drink, smiling to myself. Yes, to many more dates to come.

* * *

 _ ***** Written for the Houses Competition, Round 6*_

 **House: Ravenclaw**

 **Category: Themed**

 **Prompt: Horrible Date**

 **W/C: 2, 104**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Here comes the second installment - regret and missed chances. I hope you'll enjoy it.**

 **It would mean a lot to me if you'd leave a review!**

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Words Unspoken

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"This is crap," Katie Bell murmured to herself, whilst brooding over a new Quidditch manoeuvre she'd designed. She really wanted to test it on the practice squad, but felt it still needed some refining on.

Without warning, her fireplace came to life. Shrouded in green flames, her best friend stumbled out of it. Angelina Johnson's face was wet with tears and her eyes were swollen and puffy.

Instantly, Katie leapt to her feet.

"I can't do this anymore!" Angelina choked out before she dissolved into sobs right in front of Katie. "I – I j-just can't."

"Shh." Katie tried to calm her and gently pushed her down on the sofa. "What happened?"

Another heartbreaking sob erupted from Angelina's chest, and she curled herself around one of Katie's pillows. "N-nothing."

As it clearly wasn't 'nothing', Katie put an arm around Angelina and let her cry until her racking sobs subsided into quiet sniffles. Eventually, she summoned a handkerchief, pressed it into Angelina's shaking hands, and then directed her wand at the kettle. "Better now?" she asked cautiously, scrutinising her friend. "I tell you what: I'll make some tea and then you'll tell me what's bothering you. Sound fair?"

Choking back another sob, Angelina nodded, her eyes still bright with tears. Quickly, Katie got up and prepared two cups of tea. When she returned, the steaming mugs in hand, Angelina had regained her composure and sat silently on the sofa, still hugging the pillow. With a wan smile, she accepted the tea and blew on it, before taking a sip. Katie noticed that she didn't meet her eye.

"Ange," she said gently and sat down next to her.

"It's n –"

"Don't tell me it's nothing. It didn't look like 'nothing'!" Katie interrupted her.

Finally, Angelina looked up. "I met Ginny today."

A smile spread on Katie's face. "Oh, that's great," she started, but then she saw the expression on her friend's face. "Isn't it?"

"She invited me to the Sunday dinner," Angelina added tonelessly.

Katie's lips formed a silent _oh_ , but she didn't really know what to say. She herself had been avoiding going there since … the funeral. She just couldn't handle the built up sadness in the house. It always took her breath away.

"I didn't know what to say," Angelina admitted after a long silence. "I practically fled from the shop and came straight here. I can't go, Katie. I can't. I can't do any of this anymore." Her hands clenched around the tea cup. "I had it all mapped out, you know." She glanced at Katie, who nodded slightly. She knew what Angelina was talking about. She, too, had thought her life would take a different direction. And then, the war had happened.

"I thought I'd have finished my apprenticeship at the tax consultant by now. I thought I'd be working in the joke shop, doing the books, since the twins are hopeless in bookkeeping." A shadow of a smile flickered across her face, but then it vanished and all that was left was sadness. "I thought Fred and I …" Her voice gave in, and she quickly took a sip of her tea.

"I know," Katie whispered. "I still can't believe he's gone. Sometimes, when I see George working in shop, I think _Fred's probably checking the storage_ or _has Fred overslept today_? And then, I could kick myself for it."

Angelina used the hem of her shirt to wipe her face. "I can't do it anymore," she repeated. "I can't still think about him every day. I can't live with this grief. And I can't see George." She pleadingly looked at Katie, but her friend understood. The twins were nearly identical, after all.

"It's been almost a year!" Angelina added. "And I can't live my life like this anymore. I can't keep on regretting all things that could've been, but …" Her voice trailed away into nothing.

Katie opened her mouth, but then closed it again. Words failed her. There was nothing she could say to comfort her friend. Angelina and Fred had been a couple the last months before the battle. Secret meetings in remote places, barely any contact in between. She knew it had been hell for her friend. There had been many evenings spent in Katie's flat, silently drinking tea and hoping their friends were still alive.

At least, she'd had a few months, a few days, a few hours of bliss, moments of happiness and love. Katie and George never had got that far.

She told herself every day that it was better this way because otherwise she might hurt as much as Angelina. George wouldn't let her in. Their relationship would have ended one way or another. At least, now they were still friends – sort of. Mainly it was Katie visiting George in the shop because she couldn't stay away, because she couldn't see him suffer without trying to help.

She knew George cared for her, may have even loved her at one point, but it was all too late now.

"I never told him," Angelina's voice cut through the silence like a knife and Katie's head snapped up. Angelina didn't meet her gaze. She stared out the window, her eyes lingering in the past. "It's what I regret most, never telling him that I loved him. I loved him so much, and he died without ever knowing."

Suddenly, Angelina's dark eyes focused and she took Katie's hand. "Don't make the same mistake."

Katie opened her mouth to protest, "What –?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about." Angelina's voice was surprisingly firm and her grip tight.

Feverishly, Katie shook her head. "You don't understand. George, he doesn't want me …" Her voice broke.

"Does it matter?" Angelina countered. "I'll wish for the rest of my life that I'd have told him. I can't go until I know that you won't make the same mistake."

"Go? Go where?" Katie's mind was racing.

Angelina pressed her lips together. "I wasn't planning on telling you yet. I meant what I said before … this isn't my life anymore. I feel so numb, going through the motions." She shook her head. "I'm leaving, Katie. I'm moving to New Zealand."

Katie's mouth fell open, and it took a surprising amount of effort to close it again. "You're leaving me?" Realising how that had sounded, she pulled herself together and added, "I mean, if that's what you want."

"I'm not leaving you. I'm just leaving," Angelina replied silently.

Katie emptied her cup and put it down on the table. The _clack_ echoed though the room. "How long …?"

"Not long," Angelina said quickly, sounding apologetic. "I've been thinking about it for weeks, making plans. But the decision fell today. I realised … I realised a great many things." She pressed Katie's hand. "Don't be mad at me."

"I'm not," Katie answered automatically. Her mind was still trying to process the news. Where would she go if Angelina was gone? To whom could she pour her heart out? What should she do without her best friend to counsel her?

But she had seen how Angelina had tried over and over again to move on but failed every time. She had seen how she hurt, and grieved, and fought, and died a little every day. If it felt right for her to go, it was what she should do. Katie understood that Fred's death ate Angelina up inside, that it would destroy her if she'd let it.

"It's okay," she whispered finally. "You should go. New Zealand will be good for you." She tried to smile but failed miserably.

"Thank you." Tears glimmered in Angelina's eyes when she bent forward to hug her. Katie, too, felt tears sting in her eyes, and she quickly freed herself.

"This feels like goodbye," she said huskily.

"It's not. I won't be going for a few weeks," Angelina murmured, looking down at her empty cup. "But I meant what I said earlier. Go to George. Tell him. Kiss him senseless. You'll regret it if you don't. Take it from someone who knows."

"A few weeks," Katie repeated hollowly. A few weeks and Angelina would be gone.

Sensing her despair, Angelina murmured softly, "I won't be gone forever. You can visit me, or Floo call, or owl me. It really isn't that complicated anymore."

Katie nodded blankly. "I know." Still, Angelina wouldn't be here. So this _was_ goodbye. She needed to let Angelina go, and she needed to let George go. There was no future for them. But Angelina had a future, a whole new world full of opportunities.

"I hope you'll find what you're looking for," Katie said sincerely, looking Angelina straight in the eyes. She wished her only the best.

Angelina knew that. She smiled faintly at her, and Katie had the feeling she wanted to say something, but Katie didn't want to hear it. She didn't want to hear about George anymore.

So she quickly asked, "Do you already know where you'll live and what you'll do?"

Angelina smile grew broader, and she started to explain her plans. Katie tried very hard to listen and to make helpful remarks, but a part of her didn't want to know about it. A part of her wanted to deny that Angelina would really be leaving soon.

So when the other girl had left, after hours of planning and giving advice, Katie couldn't move. She knew how the numbness felt that Angelina had described. She drew her knees to her chest and hugged them, trying to not fall into pieces. But it was all too much. She didn't want Angelina to leave. She didn't want Fred to be dead. She didn't want George to shut her out. It felt like everyone had left her. And a part of her regretted letting Angelina go, and not saving Fred, and, most of all, loving George.

However, she couldn't let the war break her or the other side would have won. She really needed to move on, just like Angelina. There was just one thing she needed to do before that.

She had to tell George.

* * *

 _ ***** Written for the Houses Competition, Round 7*_

 **House: Ravenclaw**

 **Category: Short**

 **Prompt: "This feels like goodbye,"**

 **W/C: 1, 692**

* * *

 **Next up: Telling George...**

 **Please review! :)**


	3. Chapter 3

A Love Lost

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"Bang Bang Boggart Bangers. Bombtastic Bombs. Box 'O' Rockets. Crystal Incantation Comets. Demon Dung Crackers. Diabolic Dare Devils," George murmured quietly, alphabetically taking stock of the pyrotechnic products they sold in the joke shop. "I need to make some more of the Dragon Fire."

Sighing deeply, he noted it down on another sheet of paper. The letters blurred in front of his eyes, and he rubbed his temples to chase away the tiredness. It was late already, but he needed to finish this.

"Feathery Flamingo Fl– er, no. Exploding Whizz Poppers first." Silently, he counted the stock. Christmas was coming up, and he needed to make sure that everything was in perfect order. He had sent Ron and Verity home hours ago. They would have stayed if he had asked them to, but he didn't actually want them to stay. He was perfectly capable of running the shop without help. Fred would have managed easily.

"We need Loonar Loop Luminators! Why are there none left?" he exclaimed, cursing silently. He was sure he had told Ron to check the fireworks supply only two days ago.

The soft chime of the bell interrupted his angry muttering. Someone had entered the shop.

"We are closed!" he yelled over his shoulder.

"George?" an unexpected voice called and he spun around.

At the doorframe stood Katie Bell. Snowflakes decorated the long blonde tresses that cascaded down her back like diamonds. She wore a midnight blue dress under her warm winter coat and high heels. Bright lipstick, a vibrant cherry-red, completed her outfit. Her green eyes glinted enticingly in the light. And the way she smiled – it made George's heart miss a beat. It was a smile that let him see her soul.

Merlin, she was beautiful.

"What are you doing here?" he blurted out. He had wanted to say something clever, something nice, but somehow, the words always slipped from his mind when he stood in front of her.

Katie's smile vanished. "You forgot." It sounded more like a statement than a question.

George's mind started racing. What day was it today? His eyes darted towards the calendar on the wall. Saturday. Shite. "Angelina's party," he groaned. That would explain her make-up and high heels. The last time she wore shoes like that must have been at the Yule Ball.

"I didn't forget," he added quickly although it was quite obviously a lie. "I just … I was working and –"

"I know. Ron told me. So I thought I'd step by and …" Katie shrugged, clearly feeling a little uncomfortable.

George stared at her. She hadn't sounded reproachful or disappointed. She wasn't even half as mad as he'd expected her to be, or as he deserved. Did she think he could still make it to the party? Quickly, George checked his watch. It was half past eight. "Let me get a clean shirt, and then I'm coming."

Katie opened her mouth, clearly with the intention of saying something, but then she hesitated. Finally, she murmured, "Fine. I'll wait here." Rubbing her arms, she turned towards the Wonder Witch products and fell to scrutinising them.

To George, it felt like she hadn't said what she had intended to say, so he watched her for a moment to see if she'd change her mind again and continue. When none was forthcoming, he shrugged and sprinted upstairs.

* * *

Angelina's flat was crowded. Nearly everyone from her year was present, in addition to the old Quidditch team and the D.A. Katie fought her way through to her best friend with George in tow. Angelina was talking to Oliver and Ginny, who both played in professional Quidditch teams. The topic was – what else could it be? – Quidditch.

"The Moutohora Macaws would be the perfect team for you, trust me," Oliver was just saying. "I think –" He automatically fell silent as he spotted George.

At once, all attention was turned to them. Angelina stiffened, barely looking George in the eye. Oliver stared at the tip of his shoes, and Ginny smiled weakly. Katie wanted to say something, but her mind was blank. The tension was so thick it could be cut with a knife.

"You look pretty, Ange," George stuttered awkwardly and smiled at the hostess.

Katie felt a stabbing pain spike through her chest. He hadn't commented in kind on her at all. Of course, it didn't mean anything. He just wanted to say something nice to Angelina.

The conversation continued only haltingly, but Katie didn't listen. As soon as possible, she excused herself and snuck to the bathroom. She had fully intended to talk with George about … things. The only problem was – she lacked the courage.

It was a stupid idea anyway, telling him that she loved him. Really stupid. She had only considered doing so because Angelina had talked her into it.

Sighing, she glanced at the mirror. The dress had been Angelina's idea, too. It was nice enough, but George had barely looked at her. And the lipstick and the shoes … Katie wasn't a lipstick kind of girl. He probably hated it.

Quickly, she took a piece of toilet paper and rubbed it over her lips. _Better_ – or so she thought. A look in the mirror told her that she now looked like a madwoman with smeared lipstick all over her mouth. Angrily, she threw the paper in the bin and sat down on the floor.

Katie didn't need to impress George. If she wore red lipstick or not, it wouldn't change his feelings towards her. But still. She couldn't help wanting to look pretty, wanting to knock him off his feet.

Maybe she should just go home. This was Angelina's party, not hers. Next week, her friend would take a Portkey to New Zealand and be gone, but Katie would have to live with the decisions she'd made; especially with George's reaction, should she ever manage to tell him.

Why couldn't she let him go? Why did she punish herself with visiting him in the shop and be treated like a distant acquaintance? She should stop caring that he overworked himself, barely ate, and drank more than was good for him. Katie knew he wasn't coping with his twin's death. He just drowned the grief and pain in work and alcohol.

She should leave it to Ron and Verity to pull him out of that. She couldn't watch him hurt himself. But she couldn't help him either.

Letting out a frustrated groan, she struggled to her feet and stared back into the mirror. Her lips looked too small without lipstick.

Resigned, Katie took out the cherry-red lipstick from her clutch and carefully applied it again. Maybe George – no! She had to stop that! She shouldn't care how she looked. This was a party. She was here to have fun, not to wallow in self-pity. She would go out there and try to present a happy face for Angelina.

And maybe, maybe, after a glass of Firewhiskey, she might even manage to talk to George.

* * *

After midnight, the party guests started to leave. To George's surprise, the evening hadn't been as bad as he'd thought it would be. Having overcome the first awkward conversation, they soon found back to their old camaraderie. He had even laughed once or twice.

Katie had been more subdued than he knew her to be. Crestfallen, even. When she thought nobody could see her, the smile fell from her face and was replaced by utter sadness. Once or twice, she had glanced at him, but when he turned his face to meet her gaze, she would look away.

"Promise me to show your face more often," Lee said and clapped him on the back. "I want to see you in the pub at least once a month, or I'll come and terrorise you in the shop."

George rolled his eyes. "Maybe if your Wizarding Wireless Wonder – show starts making some good jokes."

Lee grinned. "Oh, I can't wait for you to hear Monday's programme. It'll blow you off your feet."

A ghost of a smiled flickered across George's face. "Yeah. Dream on."

"Anyway. Good night, mate. See you in the pub." Lee winked and then turned to Angelina to say goodbye.

George let his eyes travel over the remaining guests. Where was Katie? Had she left without saying goodbye? That was not like her. Also, she had seemed a bit tipsy. She shouldn't Apparate home alone. Slowly, he wandered the rooms, searching for her. Eventually, he found her alone on the balcony.

"Katie?" he asked quietly. "Are you all right?"

Startled, she spun around. "Yeah. Fine."

She didn't look fine, though. Determined, George stepped out onto the balcony. The air was cool, but not frosty. There had to be a Warming Charm around Angelina's home.

Jerkily, Katie turned away from him and grabbed the iron railing, fixing her gaze somewhere along the London skyline. He didn't know what to do; one part of him wanted to go to her, put an arm around her shoulder, and hug her, but the other wanted to be far away, opening a bottle of Firewhiskey.

He pulled himself together and leaned against the railing next to her. "I can't believe Ange's really leaving," he uttered the first thing that came to his mind.

Katie tensed. "You know why she has to go," she murmured flatly, still looking out into the distance.

Yes, George knew why. She was still grieving Fred and felt she couldn't stay in England. She wanted a fresh start. He would leave, too, if he thought it would change anything. But he would take his grief with him wherever he would go. He'd lost a part of himself, and that part would stay lost forever.

Angelina never stopped by, never even looked at him, for the same reason.

Some people are grieved forever. And George knew that never a day in his life would go by where he wouldn't miss Fred. The mere thought of him nearly made him fall to pieces right there and then.

George swallowed loudly. "Yeah," he whispered huskily, glancing sidelong at Katie. "What's going on, Katie? You've been distant the whole evening."

Katie hunched her shoulders defensively. "I said I'm fine." Her fingers tightened around the railing, and George could see the whites of her knuckles.

Cautiously, he reached for her. Ignoring how she flinched away, he turned her around, so she had to look at him. "Katie."

Her green eyes finally met his gaze, and she gave in. Her face crumbled. "She'll leave, George. And I'll be all alone."

George had guessed how she felt. He knew how close the two girls were. "You're not alone. You have other friends," he tried to cheer her up. "Oliver, and Leanne, and Ginny, and ... and I'm sure you'll find a boyfriend or something." He bit his tongue. From her face he could tell it was exactly the wrong thing to say. Why did he _always_ say the wrong things?

"A boyfriend," she repeated in a broken voice. The way she looked at him, the deep gloom in her eyes, made his chest tight. She scared him.

Suddenly, Katie turned and took something out of her handbag. With it, she wiped around in her face, removing the red lipstick.

"What are you doing?" he asked, alarmed.

"I hate lipstick." Abruptly, she stepped out of her shoes, staggering a bit. "And I hate these shoes." She kicked them aside and turned back to him, her eyes a little too bright. She was closer than before. George noticed a bit of red still coloured her lips.

"I wanted to tell you…" Katie paused. "I just wanted you to know that I got the message. You're not into me." She swallowed and stepped even nearer. "But I'd never forgive myself if …" She trailed off.

George wanted to say something, but suddenly, Katie bent forward and crushed her lips to his.

He became instantly aware of every part of her body that was touching him, and he wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing her in closer. The temperature on the balcony must have risen ten degrees, and he didn't understand how his body could be so warm and yet still shivering.

Katie wound her fingers through his hair, and her body seemed to mould against his as if she were liquid. All of a sudden, George knew what she'd wanted to tell him, how she felt about him. He realised something else, too: that whatever she was feeling was mutual.

But then, abruptly, Katie pulled away, hair mussed and lips slightly swollen, and stared at him.

"I thought you should know," she whispered. Before he could do anything, she left.

The finality of the balcony door banging shut crushed him. He realised that it was too late. He had lost her, too.

* * *

 _ ***** Written for the Houses Competition, Round 7*_

 **House: Ravenclaw**

 **Category: Themed**

 **Prompt: Red lipstick**

 **W/C: 2, 145**


	4. Chapter 4

More than words

* * *

Yawning, Hannah entered the small dorm she shared with the other eighth-year girls. Not many students had decided to come back to Hogwarts to complete their education. It had been a long day for Hannah. She wanted nothing more than to lie on her bed and fall asleep instantly.

"Look what I found!" her fellow Hufflepuff, Susan Bones, beamed at her. "Flowers!" She was frantically pointing at a vase with little purple flowers on Hannah's nightstand.

"What?" Hannah asked blankly.

"Heartsease!" Susan exclaimed, as if it were obvious. "Someone sent you flowers."

"Maybe they're Hermione's," Hannah murmured, shrugging, and walked over to the bed. Who would send her flowers anyway?

However, against the vase leaned a little envelope, and on it: _To Hannah Abbott_.

"What does it say?" Susan squealed and sat down next to her on the bed.

All tiredness was forgotten, when Hannah broke the seal and opened the envelope. Inside was a small notelet, but all it said was: _Viola Tricolor._

Hannah frowned, turning it over, but the reverse was blank.

"Just … the name of the flower," she mumbled. How strange.

Susan seemed disappointed and stopped asking her about a secret admirer after a few minutes.

However, when Hannah went up to the dormitory the next evening, she found another flower. Light blue of colour with thread-like leaves. _Love-in-a-mist_ , she remembered. The letter was little more illuminating than yesterday. _Nigella damascena_ , it read. _Do you want to go to Hogsmeade with me?_

No name again. Why would that person send her such strange flowers? And why wouldn't he ask her out straight away?

"Another flower!" Susan exclaimed without warning, snatching the letter out of her fingers. "I knew it was a boy!"

"How would you know that it's a boy?" Hermione deadpanned, walking over to the excited Hufflepuff. Susan opened her mouth, but Hermione cut her off, "Love-in-a-mist. That means he's puzzled by you, Hannah."

Hannah stared at the Gryffindor, dumbfounded. "How do you know that?"

A light blush crept on Hermione's face. "Er. I read a lot." She bit her lip. "It's the language of flowers. Love-in-a-mist means 'you puzzle me'."

Hannah didn't need to ask how Hermione could possibly remember that. She seemed to have nearly encyclopaedic knowledge anyway. "What does the Viola Tricolor mean then?" she enquired.

"You occupy my thoughts," Hermione answered like a bullet from a gun.

"Awwww," Susan sighed. "Isn't he cute?"

"But why doesn't he just ask me?" Hannah asked, puzzled. Now he was puzzling her, it seemed.

"Boys," Hermione and Susan said in unison.

The next evening, Hannah was so tense she couldn't concentrate on her homework. What if he'd send another note? Taking a split-second decision, she sprinted upstairs.

Indeed, he had. On her bed laid a trumpet-shaped white flower. "Thorn-apple or devil's trumpets," Hermione supplied behind her. "I like your mystery man."

"Why? What does it mean?" Hannah asked and opened the envelope.

"I dreamed of thee," Hermione sighed, as if stuck in a fantasy of her own.

Hannah's mind raced. His flowers became ever more mysterious. The letter was – as usual – no help at all.

 _Datura stramonium. Leave your answer in the empty classroom on the 5th floor._

"What should I do?" she asked Hermione.

The other girl shrugged. "Send him a flower and a question. Tell him you'll give him an answer if you're sure this isn't a prank."

"And which?"

With a swift flick of Hermione's wand, a flower appeared. "Bittersweet," she clarified. "It means truth."

Hannah nodded and scribbled some words down on a paper: _Who are you? Why me?_

The reply came the next evening. A primrose.

"I can't live without you," Hermione supplied helpfully. "What did you ask?"

Suddenly, Hannah's mouth was very dry. The obligatory card only teased her further. _You'll see if you go to Hogsmeade with me._

"Nothing," she murmured and leaned back on her pillow. She felt intrigued and almost compelled to say _yes_. Hannah _needed_ to know who her secret admirer was. She'd stared at every boy in her class, but she just couldn't picture Draco Malfoy or Justin Finch-Fletchley sending her flowers.

"What do I answer?" she asked after a while.

Hermione, who had returned to her reading, looked up. "I can't tell you, Hannah. He's very sweet, though. I wish Ron'd send me flowers." She sighed. "Here. The striped carnation means _no_ , the monochrome one _yes_. It's your decision."

Hannah took a deep breath, and then, she chose one of the flowers.

* * *

 _ ***** Written for the Houses Competition, Round 8*_

 **House: Ravenclaw**

 **Category: Drabble**

 **Prompt: Secret Admirer**

 **W/C: 749**

* * *

 **The meaning of the flowers are taken from :** the language of flowers. com

 **And, come on guys, I know you're reading this. Leave me a review, pleaseeee!**


	5. Chapter 5

Point of No Return

* * *

It was an early November evening when George apparated to the Burrow. Night was already draping itself over the land, but the western horizon was still light blue. A few stars twinkled against the darkening sky.

It was cold. An icy wind blew over the fields, and George drew his cloak tighter. He was early for the traditional Sunday dinner. At first, he hadn't wanted to go, but then he had pulled himself together, put on a nice shirt, and Apparated over.

Sometimes, George couldn't handle how his mother still fussed over him, how Percy threw him careful glances, and how Bill's eyes narrowed if he only as much as looked at the Firewhiskey. He hadn't drunk anything for almost a year now. Katie's words, their reprimand, the parting echo of their final real exchange, had managed to wake him up. But when he had realised what he really wanted, it had been too late.

That was him – always too late, always missing the perfect moment. Fred had been much better than him at that.

George opened the front door quietly because he wanted to surprise his mother. He had expected to be the first to arrive, but when he approached the kitchen, he heard soft voices talking. Female voices.

His breath hitched in his throat. That was _not_ Ginny. Carefully, he edged forward, avoiding every creaking floorboard with the ease of familiarity. What was Katie doing here?

George peered around the corner and saw Katie and his mother sitting around the table, steaming mugs of tea before them. Katie's face was covered by her hands, but the quiet shaking of her shoulders told him that she was crying. His chest constricted painfully. One part of him wanted to run to her and hug her, while the other one wanted to hear the exchange.

"Shh, it's all right, dear," his mother was just saying, petting Katie's arm. Molly seemed to always know what to say and what to do when one of her children was in distress. George admired that about her. It almost seemed like magic to him. And, indeed, her comforting skills worked on Katie too because, after a few seconds, her stifled sobs subsided into quiet sniffles.

"I tell you what, dear," Molly continued with a smile, "why don't you spend Christmas dinner with us?"

Inadvertently, a low gasp escaped George's lips, and Katie's head snapped towards him. She stared at him, as if seeing him for the first time; then she rubbed her sleeves over her face and turned to Molly. "It's too early to start talking about Christmas," she said in a clipped voice. "Thanks for the tea, Molly." Then, Katie leapt to her feet, her movements jerky and clumsy, and reached for her coat.

"But, Katie …" Molly protested, her eyes wandering between her and George.

"Goodbye," Katie said quickly and made for the door.

"Katie!" George called after her, but she didn't stop. He could kick himself. Finally, he'd had the chance to talk to her and he'd ruined it again. "Katie, wait!"

Frosty air hit his face when he dashed out the door after her. Katie was walking briskly towards the garden gate, her coat pulled tightly around her. His longer legs made short work of the difference, and he managed to catch her before she reached the gate. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her around, disregarding the way she tried to tear away from him.

"What's going on?" George asked, his eyes searching her gaze.

She eyed him coolly. "I just needed some advice."

"Is it about …" his voice quavered a little, "Jonathan?"

Her gaze grew even icier. "That's none of your business."

"So you're still dating that jer–"

Katie cut him off. "Yes, I am. Isn't that what you wanted me to do? Find a boyfriend?" Her voice was bitter, almost reproachful, her face blank, a façade. Then, she turned on her heels, stomping towards the gate once more.

"It's bloody not what I want if he makes you cry!" George retorted. Yes, she was right – those words, about her finding a boyfriend, had slipped from his lips one fateful night almost a year ago, but he hadn't meant it. Not really. Of course, he had only realised that later when she was already gone.

"It's not about him!" Katie shouted back over her shoulder. But George knew she was lying. Her voice always skipped a few octaves when she told a lie. Besides, Ginny had disclosed to him that she had found Katie twice in the locker rooms of the Holyhead Harpies, crying her eyes out. Katie wouldn't tell her what it had been about, but Ginny guessed they'd had a fight. George also knew that that Jonathan guy had kept Katie waiting in a restaurant for hours because 'he'd forgotten about it'. Apparently, it had happened more than once. That was all Ginny would tell him.

"Why won't you talk to me?" George's voice cracked. He hated that he never saw Katie anymore, that she avoided the joke shop as if it harboured the plague, and that she excused herself quickly, if he managed to catch her on the street.

Finally, she stopped and spun back towards him. "I _am_ talking to you."

"No, you're not," George contradicted, drawing level with her. "You're avoiding me. Aren't we friends anymore?"

Katie took a small step back. "Of course, we're friends," she said without inflection. It sounded so much like a lie that George flinched.

"Why won't you tell me, then?" he asked, softer.

Katie crossed her arms over her chest. "Fine," she huffed. "Walk with me?"

George nodded, and together they walked down the small garden path that led towards the large field they used as a Quidditch pitch. His breathing was loud in the silence of the night.

Just when he thought Katie wouldn't say anything further, she cleared her throat and mumbled, "Angelina won't visit over the holidays." She paused, letting the news sink in. "She promised me she would, but now she says she doesn't have time. And I understand that. It's just … I wanted to see her so badly." Her voice broke. "I thought I could visit her, but I can't afford a Portkey to New Zealand." Katie picked up her pace, her feet crunching the frozen grass underfoot. "I shouldn't have gotten my hopes up," she mumbled, throwing George a sidelong glance.

"I could –" he began, but Katie shook her head.

"It's okay. I – I'll go another time."

Their steps found a steady rhythm on the ground as they continued walking in silence. Their breath gathered in white clouds in front of their faces. It would have been peaceful, if it weren't for the tension between them.

"Is that why Mum asked you to stay over for Christmas?" George asked finally.

Katie shrugged, her shoulders stiff, her hands stuffed into the pockets of her coat.

"Aren't you staying with J-Jonathan?" George dared to ask, squinting at her.

"No," she replied primly. "He's staying with friends. They've already booked a flight to Tenerife. I'd told him it was no problem since Ange was supposed to come. But – well, you know. Now she isn't coming."

George looked down at the path in front of him. They had almost rounded the house. "Can't he cancel his trip?"

Katie shrugged again. "Don't ask me about Muggle flight policies."

George stopped and stared at her. She stopped too when she noticed he was no longer following her and turned back to him, confusion painted on her face. Katie looked a little too lost, a little too sad, standing there in the garden, for him to let it lie. "You _can_ come to the dinner, you know," he said. "Don't stay away because of me." He attempted a smile. "It'll be fun. Mum will make enough food to feed an army, and Dad will wear one of those paper hats for the whole day. Percy will engage you in a fascinating conversation about the thickness of cauldron bottoms or the appropriate length of quills while Bill will hide all the scissors before Mum gets the idea to cut his hair." He shook his head fondly at the thought, even if the weight in his chest for Katie's mournfulness still ached. He continued with as much enthusiasm as he could manage. "Then Ron will fight with Hermione about the lines of a Christmas carol, and Ginny will be too cheery and over-excited the whole day to cover up that she'd rather sit in her room crying while Harry will change from being gloomy to beaming at everyone in a heartbeat. Sound exciting?"

Katie took a step towards him, and the light of the house illuminated her face. "What will you do?" she asked, scrutinising him.

"Probably trying to stay away from the eggnog," George said, attempting a laugh that didn't quite work. Katie pulled a face.

"Are you – I mean, should I –?"

"I'm fine, Katie," he reassured her quickly. "No drinking, I promise."

She swallowed. "Okay." She turned and continued walking along the path.

George watched her for a moment, pondering his next step. Then he lurched into motion, hastening after her. "Does that mean you'll show up?" he asked, jogging to catch up to her.

"Christmas is still a month away," she answered without looking at him. "Who knows what'll happen before then."

"Please, Katie. _Please_ come!" The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. Hurriedly, he added, "It'll be no bother. You practically belong to the family."

George felt her looking at him, but he didn't dare to meet her gaze. He feared he might say something inappropriate, like 'dump that git of a boyfriend and date me instead'. It was the last thing he should say right now.

When Katie finally spoke, her voice was so faint, he almost didn't hear it. "I'll think about it."

George nodded, finally looking at her. When he met her gaze, she forced a smile her on her lips. Then she nodded back. "Goodbye, then. Until Christmas."

And before he could say anything else, she was through the gate, leaving him standing in her wake once more, feeling like a prize idiot.

* * *

 _ ***** Written for the Houses Competition, Round 8*_

 **House: Ravenclaw**

 **Category: Short**

 **Prompt: "It's too early to start talking about Christmas,"**

 **W/C: 1, 710**

* * *

 ***waves* I know it's kinda pointless, but - please review?**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Thank you to the wonderful AelysAlthea and Beckwithtime for betaing! I love you, girls!**

 **Have you also wondered what Angelina has been up to? Now you'll find out!**

 **Please leave me review!**

* * *

Six Degrees of Separation

* * *

Katie was woken by the sharp ringing of the telephone piercing the air. She shot upright and squinted at her clock. It was nine already. Quickly, she grabbed her dressing gown and stumbled into the living room.

She had installed the Muggle device because her mum had pressured her until she had given in. Her mum found it was much easier for communication than owl post or Floo calls, and normally Katie agreed.

But not when the blasted thing woke her up when she could have enjoyed a lazy morning in bed. Today was the 24th of December, and she had taken the day off.

Katie picked up the phone and croaked into the receiver, "Yes?"

"Oh my god, Katie," the voice on the other side of the phone practically screamed into her ear. "This is really working. I can't believe it's working!"

Katie needed a moment to recognise the voice. "Angelina?" she asked surprised. "Wait, are you calling from New Zealand?"

After her friend had moved down under a year ago, they had exchanged regular letters and Floo calls, but never talked on the phone. At first, it had been difficult for Katie that Angelina had moved so far away. Suddenly, there was so much distance between them. But she had understood her friend's decision to leave since, for Angelina, it had been the only way possible to overcome the trauma of the war, to forget the holes that had been ripped into their lives by an evil madman.

"Yes! Sorry, did I wake you?" Angelina lowered her voice a little. "I should have used the Floo. But the long distance calls always make me so dizzy."

"I know. I always think I'll end up in the wrong fireplace," Katie said. She suddenly felt more elated than she had in weeks. "I've missed you."

There was a short silence on the other side of the line. "I've missed you, too, Katie. You know how sorry I am that I can't visit you over the holidays."

Katie nodded. "Yes, I know."

Silence fell between them, and Katie used her wand to heat the kettle. "It's already Christmas Eve where you are, right?" she finally said lightly. Slowly, the happy feeling was fading to be replaced by foreboding.

"Oh, yes," Angelina said, but her voice was strained as if she forced herself to sound happy. As if that wasn't the reason she was calling. "Christmas."

"Are you alright, Ange?" Katie asked cautiously. There was something off about her voice, but maybe it was just the bad connection.

"Yes, yes," her friend said in a strangely high voice. "I'm – I'm fine. Everything's good – er, great. And you? You're going to the Weasley family dinner tomorrow?"

Katie narrowed her eyes. "Probably. Ange, what's going on?"

"I'm fine," Angelina insisted, but this time her voice broke. "Can't I call just to wish you a Merry Christmas?"

The kettle started to whistle in the background, but Katie ignored it. "Merry Christmas," she whispered into the receiver.

Silence hung between them while the whistle of the kettle grew more insistent, demanding Katie's attention.

"Merry Christmas," Angelina finally replied hoarsely. Another silence, then, "It's late. I gotta go. Bye."

Before Katie could say another word, the ringing tone echoed through the receiver. Angelina had hung up.

For a few moments, Katie stared at the phone, feeling like her friend had punched her in the gut. Something was definitely wrong. A year was a long time. Did Angelina feel like she couldn't talk to her anymore? Slowly, Katie stood up and mechanically prepared herself a cup of tea, her eyes darting over to the phone every other second. Should she call Angelina back? It wasn't like her to behave like that.

Suddenly, the high-pitched ringing of the telephone reverberated through Katie's living room, startling her. She flinched, and her teacup slipped through her hand and crashed to the floor.

Disregarding the mess, Katie dashed over to the phone and answered breathlessly, "Angelina?"

White noise flooded the line, then a sob, and then, "Yes, it's me."

"Thank Merlin," Katie breathed and slumped backwards into the wall. "What's wrong, Ange?"

"I- I wanted to tell you, but I didn't know how. I– I –" she stammered, her words broken up by silent sobs.

"Shh, calm down," Katie said soothingly, sliding down the wall until she was huddled into the narrow space between the couch and the coffee table.

Angelina took a deep breath. "I don't want to ruin your Christmas. Let's do this another time."

"You're not ruining anything, sweetie, you know that."

"But –"

"You're obviously upset," Katie interrupted her. "I've always been there for you when you were upset. Talk to me."

For a few seconds, Katie could hear only Angelina's ragged breathing. When she spoke, it was suddenly, though sounded markedly more collected than before. "I had a fight with Ezra."

Ezra was something like Angelina's boyfriend, although she wouldn't call him that. Katie knew that Angelina liked Ezra, but she wasn't ready to commit to a real relationship.

"What happened?" Katie asked.

"He wants us to be a couple." Angelina's voice broke again and Katie could hear her friend fighting back sobs.

"And you don't want that?"

"I – I don't know, Katie. It's not just that." She swallowed thickly. "I wasn't feeling so well the last few weeks and … I threw up a lot, I couldn't eat fries without feeling sick, and I suddenly craved pickles."

Katie sucked in a sharp breath, already anticipating what Angelina was about to tell her.

"So, I did a pregnancy charm …" Angelina whispered.

Katie waited for her to continue, but a strained silence spread between them. "You – you're pregnant?" she whispered, her voice raw with shock.

"Yes," Angelina replied quietly. "What should I do, Katie? I'm not ready for that. I ran away to New Zealand to escape my problems, not to … I thought I'd come back."

"What are you talking about?" Katie asked tonelessly, fear clouding her mind. This was happening too quickly. It seemed Angelina already drew conclusions, took decisions, where there were still so many possibilities.

"I'm gonna have a baby, Katie. And I can't – I'll keep it." There was a pleading undertone in her voice. "And Ezra will support me. He'll help me, and we could be a family. You must understand that, Katie."

Katie opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She felt numb, number than when Angelina had told her she was going to leave for New Zealand, because it had been with the understanding that it was only temporary. Katie had always expected Angelina to come back, back to England.

"Katie? Say something, please," Angelina begged.

"You'd have me," Katie forced out. " _We_ could be a family."

"I –" Angelina interrupted herself. "I can't do that. It's Ezra's child, too. If he wants to be a father, if he wants to have a serious relationship…" Her voice cracked. "I can't say no."

"Is that what you want?" Katie snapped. "Really?"

"I don't know. I'm not ready to be a mother, Katie, but I also can't kill it. Her. _Him_. Maybe this was meant to happen." Angelina spoke fiercely, but to Katie it sounded like an excuse.

"There's no such thing as fate," she said harshly. Angelina couldn't just leave and never come back. She couldn't just start a new life on the other side of the world as if everything they'd been through together meant nothing. As if they're friendship wasn't important.

Katie's fingers curled around the receiver. This wasn't true. She knew that Angelina cared, but that her friend had to make more important choices. Sometimes life was dictated by circumstances, and sometimes there was only one choice that could be lived with.

"Katie…"

Katie closed her eyes. How could she be so selfish and only think about what this meant to her? The leg of the table pressed uncomfortably into her shin, but she didn't care. She didn't shift her weight in pursuit of comfort. "You're right," she said, though it sounded forced. "It's the right thing to do. For the kid. You should stay, build a life. Even marry Ezra if you love him enough."

"What if I don't?" Angelina asked weakly.

"Then don't do it. You don't need him. You need to do what's right for you and for the baby," Katie replied, opening her eyes. It was the right thing to say. Angelina needed that sort of advice now.

"You think I can handle being a mother?" Angelina asked, and Katie could picture her, how she would look up through the curtain of her black hair, her cheeks wet with tears.

Katie summoned all her strength and said in a firm tone, "You can handle anything."

There was another long silence. Katie watched dark clouds gathering outside her window, threatening snow.

"You can visit," Angelina said suddenly. "This isn't a goodbye forever."

Katie swallowed. Her words had sounded like a lie, even though Katie knew that Angelina meant them. "Yes, I'll visit soon." Her promise felt just as hollow as Angelina's reassurance. "You can still decide to …" she began, but let her voice trail off. No. Angelina had made a decision, even if she wasn't aware of it. There was no use in convincing her to take a different path. Maybe, it was Angelina's way of moving on from the war. "Can we talk again sometime? I'm meeting up with Ginny in twenty minutes and I'm still in my pyjamas."

"Oh, yes, of course," Angelina said, clearing her throat. "I'll call you when the holidays are over, and we can … talk."

"Yes," Katie replied without inflection."Bye."

"Katie, I …" For a second, it sounded like she was going to say something, but then Angelina took a deep breath. "Goodbye."

Katie didn't even bother to put the receiver back on the phone; she just let it slip through her fingers and dangle from its cord.

Outside, it began to snow.

* * *

 _*Written for the Houses Competition, Round 9*_

 **House: Ravenclaw**

 **Category: Themed**

 **Prompt: "So, I did a pregnancy charm..."**

 **W/C: 1, 667**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: This is going to be the last story for Year One of the Houses Competition. I want to thank one last time our amazing prefect** 2DaughtersOfAthena **, my lovely buddy** Beckwithtime **, and** AelysAlthea **, who is a terrific writer and a great friend, for betaing this drabble. Thanks go also out to the Ravenclaw Head of House** 0WolfMoon0 **and our Headmistress** MoonlightForgotten **.**

 **Much love to you all.**

 **I hope you'll enjoy this little story.  
**

* * *

Stranger Things

* * *

"Have you seen my shoes?" A dreamy voice startled Blaise out of his thoughts. He looked up and locked gazes with a blonde girl with incredibly blue eyes. She wore strange earrings that seemed to be made of radishes, and a large orange flower decorated her hair. Her words had been casual, but there was a furrow between her eyebrows that betrayed her anxiety.

"What?" Blaise asked eloquently. Merlin, her eyes were beautiful. Almost the same shade as her tie, which was – _wait_ , why was he thinking about her eyes?

"My shoes," Luna replied, smiling up at him. "They're red with –"

"Do we look like we care, Loony?" Draco drawled, stepping up alongside Blaise. They had just entered the castle after a long afternoon at Hogsmeade. "C'mon, Blaise."

Blaise let himself be dragged along a few metres, but his gaze was drawn back to the Ravenclaw girl. Suddenly, he said, "You go on ahead. I think I left my scarf at the Three Broomsticks. I'll go back and check."

Draco frowned at him, but then he just shrugged, letting it go. "Okay. See you later, then."

Blaise nodded and waited until his friend was out of sight; then he walked back to the blonde girl, who was still wandering around the Entrance Hall in seemingly ineffective searching for her shoes. He didn't know why he cared. Slytherins didn't care. "You lost your shoes – er, Luna?" he asked, trying to sound casual, as if he talked to her every day.

Luna turned towards him, a blissfully vague smile on her face. Something constricted in Blaise's chest.

"Yes." She nodded. "They were in my dorm, but when I came back from Hogsmeade, they were gone."

A frown furrowed Blaise's brow. "They were _stolen_?" Surprised, he realised that it made him angry. Why should the fact that someone stole this girl's shoes make him angry?

Luna shrugged, a strange half-smile settling onto her lips. "Nargles probably took them."

"Nargles?" he echoed. _Nargles_ was probably the most illogical answer he had ever heard - he was fairly sure they didn't exist - but still... somehow adorable. Abruptly, he wondered why he liked this strange girl, who believed in creatures whose existence had never been proven.

Luna nodded firmly. "It's just that I'd like them back because I'm going home for Christmas next week."

"Why don't you go to your prefects?" Blaise suggested. Suddenly, this whole conversation felt like a very bad idea. What would the others think of him if he was seen talking to the crazy Ravenclaw? He knew of Loony Lovegood, even if he'd never spoken to her, but something about her suddenly drew him in – maybe the cornflower blue eyes, maybe just the fact that she had asked him for help. However, the most surprising thing about the situation was that he _wanted_ to help her.

There was a lostness about her, a loneliness that reminded him of his own. He feared that absence within him, the feeling that it would expand and maybe even … engulf him. All of a sudden, Blaise wondered what it would take to make her smile and laugh.

"The prefects are not much help," Luna said, tilting her head and regarding him curiously. "Don't worry. I'll find the shoes."

Blaise opened his mouth without exactly knowing what he wanted to say. He surprised himself with the words that tumbled from his mouth. "No. I – I'll help you."

And there it was: the bright smile he had hoped for. It lit up Luna's features like a sunrise and made his heart abruptly swell. "Thank you," she whispered.

Without warning, she reached for his hand and pulled him along the corridor. A part of him wanted to flinch, to pull away, but he didn't. Strangely enough, it seemed that only she could make him act against his own nature. And Blaise knew he would find these shoes, if it was the last thing he would do.

* * *

 _ ***** Written for the Houses Competition, Round 10*_

 **House: Ravenclaw**

 **Category: Drabble**

 **Prompt: Luna/Blaise**

 **W/C: 650**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: I'm back with Round 2 of the Houses Competition! Thanks to** hollyhobbit101 **and** nottheonlyfangirl **for betaing! :)**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

A Heart-to-heart

* * *

Draco draped the thick winter cloak over himself to ward off the cold, which seemed to permeate the walls of Hogwarts oh so easily. One of the perks of being an eighth year was that he didn't have a curfew, so he practically ran down the dark hallways to the main entrance. He felt the need to be alone, to isolate himself from the other eighth years, and especially to escape a certain girl.

Finally, Draco reached his favourite spot at the lake. The night was frosty, and a chilly wind toyed with his cloak, but he enjoyed the fresh air after the sticky eighth year Common Room, which had been created especially for them.

He couldn't make head nor tail of Hermione's behaviour, or her words for that matter. She really seemed to _like_ him – him, the Ex-Death Eater. He, who had brought so much suffering upon her and her friends. But ever since he'd come back to Hogwarts, she'd been especially friendly, even kind, to him. Draco, of course, knew the reason he'd fallen for her. She'd been the only person who'd accepted him, who'd protected him from the revenge of other pupils, who'd actually _cared_. But she couldn't possibly feel the same for him. Even if she'd said so herself. It simply wasn't possible.

Sighing deeply, Draco stared at the dark lake, which resembled a black mirror, in which the moon admired its countenance.

After a few minutes, a slight change in the air alerted Draco to someone else's presence, but without turning he knew it was Hermione. He didn't know what it was – instinct maybe – but he could always tell if it was her. His very being seemed to react to her presence.

Automatically, Draco leapt to his feet, staring at the intruder, but Hermione didn't say a word. She just silently, almost casually, conjured a blanket and sat down, looking at the lowly glittering lake. Her chestnut hair seemed nearly black in the darkness, and Draco found himself admiring the way it fell over her shoulders.

"Are you just going to stand there or will you sit with me?" Hermione said suddenly, interrupting his thoughts. She looked up at him, her disarming smile taking the sharpness out of her words, and Draco found himself obeying. But as soon as he had sat down, leaving a few inches between them, she shifted so she could lean against his chest. At once he froze.

"Relax," she whispered and snuggled closer, pulling his right arm around her.

Draco took a calming breath and leaned back against the tree, savouring the feeling of her warm body next to his. Every inch that still separated them felt like an itch he couldn't reach. He wanted to erase the negative space between them, draw her in, and fill the emptiness inside him – but he couldn't.

"Why do you even like me?" he asked after a while. "Weasley was right..." He stopped her protest with a shake of his head. "I bullied you, I called you Mudblood, I let you be tortured... I don't get it. What do you see in _me_?"

Hermione sighed and looked back at the lake. "Why do you need me to spell it out? Isn't it just enough to know it's there, to know I lo- like you?"

Draco shook his head. "Tell me."

She leaned her head back, so it rested against his shoulder, and was silent for a while; so long, in fact, he thought she wouldn't answer at all.

"It was the little things," she finally whispered, so low the waves on the shore nearly drowned her words. "It was the urge at first to protect you, to step in front of you and any harm, and I didn't know why. I wasn't even sure I liked you then. Something had changed about you after the war, something that had changed inside of me too, like chemicals reacting to each other. I couldn't help it. If you weren't near, I suddenly felt as if I'd been filled and didn't realise it until the absence rushed back in and swallowed me. You made me feel protected, you made me feel... safe. Though, I only realised all that too late... when you considered quitting school." Her fingers pressed into his palms. "I couldn't let you go then, and I can't do it now."

Hermione's confession overwhelmed him, but he realised she hadn't answered his question. "But ..." Draco whispered.

She turned her head slightly. "What?"

"Why me?"

Hermione shrugged. "I don't know. It could've been Ron if..." She shook her head, interrupting herself. "Fate, I guess."

Draco stared at her disbelievingly. "There's no such thing as fate." Because even fate couldn't be so cruel and give them the past they had lived through. "But, I wanted to know what you liked about me. You don't know me."

"I know how you drink your tea," Hermione replied immediately. "I know why you gulp down that pain potion if you think I'm not looking, I know the way your hair curls if it gets too long, I know you hate mushrooms but eat them anyway, I know how your right brow rises in disdain, I know the way you smile at me sometimes – a smile that seems only reserved for me, without a hint of sadness, only joy." She tilted her head. "Isn't that enough?"

Draco looked at her with wide eyes. The way she had mixed the casual things with the terrible made him feel like she really saw _him_. "For now," he choked out. "We never do this. Talk. I miss talking."

He could picture her smile although he couldn't see it in the dark. "We talked. Maybe you didn't listen." Hermione moved her body a bit and cold night air touched skin she had previously occupied.

"I want us to talk more, though. I want us to tell each other _everything_ ," Draco added.

"Do you want us to be together?" she asked quietly. "Because I want us to be, and you keeping your distance, barely allowing me to touch you, is practically killing me."

Hermione was a master in masking her words, giving them a casual appearance, but piercing his soul with them. Draco hadn't wanted to hurt her with his behaviour; he just didn't know what to do. He didn't feel that he deserved her. But he wished nevertheless that they could be a couple. "I don't want to pressure you into something you'll regret later."

She turned to look at him and her elbow pressed uncomfortably into his stomach. "You think I'm going to wake up tomorrow and realise all this has been a mistake and run back to Ron to have two children we'll call Rose and Hugo?"

Draco swallowed. That was awfully specific for a vague possibility. "Maybe," he answered. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable or go too far."

She snorted. "And you think confessing that I love you wouldn't make me uncomfortable?" She shook her head and thankfully took her arm away from his stomach, facing the lake again.

Draco took in a shuddering breath. Yes, she had said that, but, even if she really meant it, they couldn't be together. However much he wished for it. "I-I wouldn't hold it against you," Draco whispered. "It's just words."

"Not for me," Hermione replied. "I could give you more than words if you'd just let me."

Quickly, he shook his head. "Let's not rush into things."

"What's there to rush? We're both reasonably sure it's what we want, aren't we? So why not act on it?" she asked, her voice breaking a little, betraying her calm facade. Her whole body was shivering, and it wasn't just from the cold. Draco realised now that she deserved the truth.

"I'm afraid," he admitted. "I'm afraid of hurting you, I'm afraid of getting hurt, I'm afraid of other people's reactions..." He tightened his grip on her. "I can already picture the headlines: _Former Death Eater imperiuses War Heroine_ or _Is Hermione Granger changing sides?_ I don't want that for us, for you."

"You want to keep it a secret," she stated frankly, searching his gaze.

Draco shrugged. He was afraid he had hurt her with that. He didn't want to keep _her_ a secret, he just wanted his private life to stay private. And he genuinely didn't know if he was brave enough to have a relationship with her.

But she was right. They couldn't go on as they had for so long. He had to make a decision – it was all or nothing. She would be either the best or the worst for him, as much was clear.

"It's getting cold," Draco replied, untangling himself from her. "Let's get back to the castle."

Hermione didn't protest, but he could feel her gaze on him the whole time. Yes, he had to make a decision, just not now. He wasn't ready yet. But something was certain, he would be ready someday, and when that day came, he would embrace it with open arms.

* * *

 _ ***** Written for the Houses Competition, Year 2 - Round 1*_

 **House: Ravenclaw**

 **Category: Short**

 **Prompt: "** [Romantic Pairing] Non-canon pairing of your choice. **"**

 **W/C: 1, 514**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: This is set in Hermione's and Draco's eighth year (so after the war), and it's AU. Technically, it can be seen as a continuation of the previous chapter, but it can also stand alone. Also, it contains references to chapter two of _Sanctimonia Non Vincet Semper_. The horizontal lines signify a change in PoV, so don't get confused. :)**

 **I hope you enjoy it.**

* * *

 _A Christmas Date_

* * *

It felt good to be lost in the right direction for once in her life.

And quite literally, Hermione was lost – she had no idea where they were in the castle – but the important thing was that she was there with Draco. She felt lost on a different level as well, a level that had nothing to do with physics and everything with chemistry.

She had no idea what this evening, this _date_ , would bring, but she relished in the feeling of not having a plan, of not having her life mapped out for her. There was something about Draco that simply felt _right_. Ron had _never_ given her that feeling.

She still didn't understand how she had come to fall for Draco. There had been little things at first. Initially, she had an urge to protect him from bullies who thought he should pay for the mistakes of his father, for standing idly by when other students had been tortured by the Carrows. She hadn't understood why she felt compelled to help him. She hadn't even been sure she _liked_ him then, but it had been the right thing to do. Something had changed about Draco after the war, something that had changed inside of Hermione, too. She couldn't help it. If he wasn't near, she suddenly felt as if she'd been filled and didn't realise it until the absence rushed back in and swallowed her. Though, she only realised all that too late when Draco had considered quitting school. She hadn't been able to let him go, forcing him to stay.

That had surprised her, surprised the both of them.

 _Hermione Granger_ had fallen for _Draco Malfoy_ of all people. And he seemed to feel the same, too. But he fought it, every step on the way, thought he wasn't good enough for her; a Death Eater. He feared the reaction of other students, her friends, the press. Hermione, however, never gave in - she stayed even when he tried to push her away.

Now she gripped his hand tighter, as if to hold onto him, hold onto the feelings he evoked in her. The butterflies in her stomach, her pounding heart that had nothing to do with fear - for the first time in a long time.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked, a little breathless when Draco suddenly let go of her hand. He had folded a scarf over her eyes and taken a few detours, so she wouldn't know which way they were going.

A Christmas date. He had finally agreed to try, and she was buzzing with happiness and excitement.

Draco chuckled lowly, and she heard him walking up and down a short stretch of hallway. "Nearly there," he replied and eased a creaking door open.

Hermione's gut clenched in anticipation as she stepped forward, reaching for Draco. Her cheeks felt hot, and she nearly vibrated with exhilaration. Her impatience elicited yet another amused chuckle from Draco while he led her through the door. At once, the ground changed. Wooden planks were soft under her feet, making Hermione's head turn around in the hope of identifying her surroundings. But the scarf tinted everything in black.

After the door had been closed and locked, Draco pulled her forward again. A slightly salty breeze swept over them all of a sudden, and Hermione paused.

"Is that … the sea?" she asked, confused. The soft sound of waves seemed to reach her from far away.

"Shh," Draco whispered. "Take off your shoes."

"What?"

"Take off your shoes," he replied patiently. "What do you feel?"

A little insecure, she got rid of the sandals and her feet met warm, sandy floor. "Sand. A - a beach?" Her frown deepened. "I can hear the ocean, even smell it, but … _that's impossible_!"

Softly, Draco undid the knot behind her head and let the scarf fall to the ground. "And what do you see?"

She gasped and stared around with wide eyes. The Room of Requirement had really done a marvellous job. At the end of a wooden pathway, a blanket, candles, and food waited for them. The whole floor was wrapped into a thick carpet of sand, and where the walls and the ceiling should be, there was nothing but endless white beach, softly moving ocean, and starlit night sky. Of course, the walls were still there, but the illusion was good enough to let them forget that, to give them a taste of freedom.

"Wow!" was all Hermione was able to choke out.

Draco grinned from ear to ear as he lowered himself to the blanket. His surprise seemed to work. "You didn't think I had no present for you, did you?" Her gaze found his and it was full of wonder. "Merry Christmas, Hermione," he added gently and took her hand for a second, pulling her down to him.

She opened her mouth and closed it again, still speechless. It took her a moment to remember how to speak. "The Room of Requirement," she finally uttered. "Incredible." She let the sand run through her fingers. "You are incredible, Draco. Thank you so much."

Happiness bubbled up inside her like gas in sparkling wine. Her chest was too tight to contain all this joy, and tears welled up in her eyes. She couldn't believe he had done this for her, especially after the resistance he'd put up to dating in the first place. There was not a trace left of the Draco he'd been before the war.

"You're very welcome. Are you hungry?" He reached for a picnic basket.

"Starving, after you convinced me to change into a dress," Hermione replied with a crooked smile. She tugged at the seam of her knee-length cotton dress, whose colour varied from off-white to a nearly ivory shade with grey nuances. It had three-quarter sleeves and buttons down the front. She had opened the first three, revealing a simple silver necklace. It was a very casual dress, but Draco's gaze suggested that she looked stunning.

He didn't look too bad himself, she had to admit. The navy blue shirt brought out the blue speckles decorating his silver eyes.

"It was worth it, wasn't it?" he asked impishly, smoothing out nonexistent creases in his crisp shirt.

She shrugged and tried to push the sleeves a bit further down her arm to cover her scar. _Mudblood_. She hoped he wouldn't see it and suddenly remember who _she was_ and who _he was;_ remember the reason he loathed her and she despised him; remember why they shouldn't feel anything for each other.

But they did.

"Don't," he breathed. "You're beautiful. Perfect."

She looked questioningly at him for a second, then averted her gaze. He couldn't possibly mean that, could he? "Is there food now or not?" she asked roughly, trying to distract him.

Draco pushed the basket over to her and let her open it while he took two glasses and filled them with home-made lemonade. His old self would have probably ordered champagne, but he wasn't his old self anymore, and she appreciated that. She preferred something simple.

"Who prepared all this?" she asked, captured again by amazement. "I mean cold soup, couscous salad …" Her eyes widened. " _Coronation_ _Chicken_? And here …" She took out a bowl with round brown balls. "Scotch Eggs! Really?"

"You don't like it?" Draco asked anxiously. "I've never prepared a picnic before; that is my mother's specialty." Quickly, he snapped his mouth shut as if he'd said too much.

She shook her head. "It's perfect. There's even Eton Mess as desert! You can't possibly have made that."

A lopsided smile danced onto his lips. "Why not?"

Hermione opened her mouth to answer, but he was faster. "You _are_ right, of course. I didn't cook anything. I just asked the elves if they'd help me. I didn't expect all this!"

"Elves?" she asked, slightly alarmed. Had he _ordered_ house elves to prepare this?

"They wanted to help me, believe me," he replied sincerely, as if sensing her dismay. She scrutinised him for a moment, but found nothing except for the honesty in his eyes.

"O-okay," she gave in and took a sip of the lemonade. "This is good. I can't believe how good this is."

Draco handed her a plate and she heaved food onto it. The elves had outdone themselves.

"I've never really celebrated Christmas like this, you know," Hermione suddenly disclosed between two spoons of tomato consommé. "I don't like to make something grand out of it. When we were at Hogwarts before, it was just Harry, Ron, and me, and sometimes Ginny, doing something together, something casual. And last year …" She interrupted herself. She didn't want to think about how they'd barely escaped Nagini by the skin of their teeth.

"Is it too much?" he asked, again anxious he had overwhelmed her with his efforts.

She let the happiness engulf her, wrapping the delight of this moment around her like a blanket. "Actually, it's nice," she smiled at him. "I don't need it, mind you, but I like it. It makes me feel … special."

"You are special to me," he answered huskily and suddenly blushed. He looked handsome and alive with his flushed cheeks.

Hermione also felt a bush blooming on her own face and quickly took another mouthful of soup. "Thank you," she muttered.

"You deserve to have some fun."

A ghost of a smile flickered across her face. "Do Slytherins know how to have fun?"

"Oh yes, glittering parties lasting the whole night." He reached for her hand, intertwining their fingers. "Is there anything you want, anything you'd wish for?"

She turned to him. "You mean I can wish for something from you? As a Christmas gift?"

He nodded. "Anything."

Hermione's eyes glittered mischievously when she answered him. "I want … a _kiss_."

* * *

Suddenly, Draco's mouth went dry. "Oh." He had hoped for something less… physical.

She pulled her mouth into a pout. "Come on, Draco. It's Christmas." She turned her head and leaned forward, so he only had a few inches to bridge. Her face seemed to glow in the silvery night – to him she was beautiful and he wanted nothing more than to accommodate her, to kiss her senseless. The way her lips called to him seemed like magnetism.

Quickly, Draco looked back into her eyes, but she still had the same expectant determination in them.

"O-okay," he mouthed, his voice too weak to speak. With one hand he framed her face, the other trailed along her arm to intertwine their hands. Then, very slowly, savouring the tension between them, he leaned forward and touched her lips with his. He had intended for it to be a light kiss, but her reaction took him by surprise.

Hermione seemed to moan deep in her throat and hungrily returned the kiss with so much passion that he couldn't help responding. The hand that had cupped her cheek travelled into her hair, and he opened his mouth to deepen the kiss. As inexperienced as he was with relationships, kissing he knew. Pansy had taught him a thing or two.

Finally, Hermione broke away, and he froze. Had he gone too far? Was it too much? She smiled at him as if the kiss had blown all of her worries away.

"I'm better now," she grinned, and it made his heart light. He had made her smile. Even if he had accomplished nothing else in his life, that would be something he could do, and it would always fulfill him. Through her, he would know what happiness felt like.

Then she added, almost as an afterthought, "Are _you_ okay?"

"Yes," he answered as sincerely as he could. Being here, with her, was better than riding a broom, better than anything he had ever done in his whole life. And that kiss … oh, that kiss.

Hermione scrutinised him. Draco knew she was looking for the guilt he tried to suppress. He didn't deserve her, and he really shouldn't have kissed her. But he wanted to.

To distract her, he grabbed his plate and took a bite of the Scotch Eggs. She followed suit.

"I don't want you to feel like you can't come to me," Hermione said suddenly, her fork with the chicken hovering in front of her mouth. With a clink, she put it back down on the plate. "You don't need to shelter me. I don't want you to pretend you're fine when you're not."

Suddenly, the happiness he'd felt only a minute ago vanished. "Is it because I didn't tell you about the Quidditch accident?"

Hermione stared at him. "Accident? It was _not_ an accident, Draco! Someone hurt you on purpose."

He shrugged. So much for keeping it casual tonight. It was no use to say that he deserved as much because she didn't see it this way. "It wasn't about sheltering you," Draco concluded. "Can we drop it?" His tone had been harsher than intended, and she flinched at it. He ignored her, biting into the chicken. It didn't taste half as good as when he last took a bite.

"Sorry," she murmured, finally. "I didn't want to spoil the evening."

He forced a smile on his face. "It's okay. You didn't spoil anything." He sighed. "And you were right, in a way, but not because I think you can't handle it, but because I don't want you to see the bad sides. I don't want you to blame yourself for anything."

Seemingly deep in thought, she chewed her couscous salad and swallowed. "Next time you'll tell me, okay?"

He looked into her determinedly burning eyes and knew he had lost. "Fine."

"And, actually, I don't want you to blame yourself either," she added forcefully. "I know you don't want to hear it, but nobody _deserves_ to be beaten up or thrown out of a café just for the mistakes he made in his life."

"You call being a Death Eater a mistake?" he asked, incredulous.

"You were never a Death Eater, Draco, not the way the others were," she stated softly and reached for his hand. He didn't stop her from touching him, but he also didn't relax. "Besides, you were just a kid."

"I'm darkness, Hermione. I might not have been a Death Eater, but I'm not a good person. I deserve to be punished for the bad things I did." He let his shoulders slump and his head fall. "I really don't understand why you stay with me. Today … when I saw you with Ron …" He swallowed painfully. Harry and Ron visited Hermione at Hogsmeade for Christmas and he'd tagged along. "Ron deserves you. He's kind, and loyal, and strong, and much more of a hero than I am. I – I'm just nothing like that."

Draco felt her move rather than saw it. She cursed under her breath when she spilled her lemonade over the blanket, but that didn't stop her from crawling towards him until she could reach for his head and force him to face her. "I'm not looking for somebody with some superhuman gifts, a hero or fairytale prince, Draco. I want someone who understands, someone I don't need to be strong for, someone I can kiss. I want something just like this." With that, Hermione bent forward and crushed her lips to his.

Draco simply couldn't resist her - all his defences crumbled under her kiss, and he found himself returning it. He was instantly aware of every part of her body that was touching him, and he wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing her in closer. The need to touch every part of her was all consuming, and Draco lost himself in the passion of the kiss.

The temperature in the Room of Requirement must have risen ten degrees, and he didn't understand how his body could be so warm and yet still shiver.

Hermione wound her fingers through his hair. Her body seemed to mould against his as if she were liquid, and just like that, Draco knew that whatever he was feeling was mutual. She loved him back. She _really_ bloody loved him. The thought was pure bliss, pure happiness, and it made him feel warm inside, like a fire burning within.

But then, abruptly, Hermione pulled away, hair mussed and lips slightly swollen, and stared at him.

"That was …" she whispered hoarsely.

"A hell of a kiss," Draco said, no less hoarsely.

"… wholly unexpected," she finished her sentence at the same time.

The stared at each other for a second, breathing hard, and Draco had to fight the urge to kiss her again.

"You can't tell me you didn't feel that," she whispered and tried to distance herself from him, but he wouldn't let her. He wanted to never let her go, wanted to touch her and keep her close forever.

"I …" he uttered helplessly. She loved him, true and unfeigned. She really wanted him, _him_ – the Death Eater, _him_ \- with all his darkness and guilt. He still couldn't wrap his head around it.

"Love is not about deserving it, Draco – although you do! – love is a force of nature, an element, like air to breathe and earth to stand on. You can't stand in its way, and you sure as hell can't deny it. We _are_ right for each other!"

"I …" he repeated. All she'd said sounded so right, so perfect. Could he allow himself to be happy? "I know," he gave in, forgetting logic for then.

He wanted nothing more than embrace the gift she had given him, the joy, the delight of her company, the almost painful happiness he'd felt when they'd kissed.

A roguish smile crept onto Hermione's lips, recognising his words as the defeat they were, and she leaned forward to kiss him again.

* * *

Later, after they had eaten all of the delicacies the elves had prepared for them, they sat down on the hammock that had appeared in midair and gazed up at the stars glittering on the ceiling sky above them. Hermione had never felt this good, so full and whole, in her life. Her head fit perfectly in the crook of Draco's neck, as if it was made for her.

"I have another surprise for you," Draco said gently and reached over to a low table where something big had been concealed with a cloth.

"Another one?" Hermione asked, grinning. "You spoil me."

He grinned back and removed the cloth with a sweeping movement, revealing an old gramophone. With a mischievous smile, Draco pressed play, and the gramophone came to life.

"What …?" Hermione asked amazed, but interrupted herself when the first notes of the song reverberated through the room. They seemed to touch something inside of her, making her heart swell. It was the band she had told him about, a dark night long ago when he'd wanted to run, to quit school and disappear to France; the night she'd realised her feelings; the night she'd convinced him to stay. Slowly, she turned to look at him, her eyes suddenly too bright. "You didn't forget," she whispered, her voice raw with unshed tears and emotion.

"Don't cry," Draco answered and pulled her close, letting her nestle her head on his shoulder.

" _With the lights out, it's less dangerous. Here we are now, entertain us,_ " Kurt Cobain sang in the background.

She could hardly speak through all her tears. "I'm not crying because I'm sad," she explained. She was happy, insanely happy; so happy, in fact, all she could do was cry.

Draco pulled her closer still and listened to the music. "Thank you for introducing me to Muggle music," he broke the silence after the song had ended.

She straightened herself, wiping her tears away and lifting her chin proudly. "You're welcome. How did you manage to get Muggle music to Hogwarts?"

Smugly, he grinned at her. "I have my ways."

Hermione tilted her head, her eyes glistening in the starlight. She'd felt so utterly lost after the war, and Draco had found her, held her together when she threatened to fall apart. Now, because of him, she wasn't lost anymore. This might have been the best Christmas ever, the best date ever. She couldn't remember having ever felt this joy.

"I think I love you, Draco Malfoy."

* * *

 _ ***** Written for the Houses Competition, Year 2 - Round 7*_

 **House: Ravenclaw**

 **Category: Themed**

 **Prompt:** [First Line] It felt good to be lost in the right direction for once in his/her/their/my life.

 **W/C: 3, 398**


	10. Chapter 10

_The colour of trust_

* * *

Her eyes were aquamarine. Not indigo, nor grey, nor turquoise. No, the purest shade of blue Theo had ever seen. It reminded him of the ocean, evoking emotions in him that reverberated through his core long after she was gone. She was as elusive as sand running through his fingers, as wild as the wind that played with her blond hair.

And then there were her eyes, aquamarine divinity; they had the same sparkle as the waves of the sea when they broke and turned into surf. Within the blink of an eye, they captivated him, so deep that they seemed to see behind the mask he showed the world.

Theo sighed, his fingers clawing into the stone of the battlements of the Astronomy tower. She was too good for him. She was like the ancient goddess born from the foam of the sea – and he the god of war, violence, and destruction. They could not be more opposite of each other. Where she was light, he was dark; and still, he loved her.

Even her name was mysterious, enticing, like a poem. _Luna_. The moon.

But Theo knew it could never be. Not only because associating with him was dangerous in these times, but because a goddess like her could never love a Death Eater. But he wished for it, hoped for it. Hope could be a powerful force, Theo knew. Maybe there was no actual magic in it, but when you knew what you hoped for most and held it like a light within you, you could make things happen almost like actual magic.

He had to believe in her! Believe in the unbelievable – that she would notice him, smile at him, and… like him back.

"Please," Theo whispered, half talking to himself, half pleading the gods, the ancestors, any higher powers that might existto hear him and grant him his wish. "Please, help me."

There was no reply. The night was silent around him, his breathing too loud in his ears. The darkness swallowed him completely, and Theo felt like the last survivor in a world made of stone. The loneliness he felt was so terrible, it gutted him.

* * *

"You're an idiot, Theo!" Draco admonished, glaring at him. He had caught him trying to sneak into the dungeons where Luna was serving a punishment with the Carrows.

"But… but I need to help her!" Theo pleaded, trying to fight the magical restraints his friend had put on him.

"You can't!" Draco exploded. "Don't you see that it will kill you? What else needs to happen before you realise that?"

"I…" Theo bit his lip, giving up fighting against the binds. "I just can't watch them hurt her."

Something in Draco's gaze softened. "I do get that, mate." His eyes were unfocused for a second, his mind far, far away. "But you can't. We're in the middle of a bloody war, in case you've forgotten."

Theo just sighed. Draco didn't believe that this war would ever end; he feared they would be caught in this darkness forever. But even if it seemed unfathomable – and quite frankly, impossible – Theo believed that this war would be won and that Voldemort would fall. Tyrannicide had always proved to be a legitimate means of action in times such as these, even as far back as Ancient Greece.

Voldemort had to fall, like all tyrants before him.

"What do you hope to gain, hm?" Draco said, seeing his silence as defeat. "Do you think she'll fall into your arms and worship you as her hero?"

Theo stayed silent, his eyes determinedly fixed on a spot on the carpet.

Draco's words lashed through the air, every word a hit. "She won't, mate. She won't love you. It's impossible! You should give up that childish notion and concentrate on surviving."

Theo snorted.

"I mean it, Theo!" Draco said firmly. "Forget her. Stay as far away from her as possible."

"Will you release me if I promise?" Theo whispered, finally looking up. Their eyes met and understanding passed between them.

"I would, but I know you'd be lying," Draco replied, and with a flick of his wand, Theo was free. "Dig your own grave."

* * *

Theo walked through the destroyed hallways. Blood was splattered on the floor, paintings were ripped apart by curses, and burn holes marked the ancient wood like bruises. The marble staircase was in pieces.

Theo felt utterly out of place, like a lone survivor in the wake of the apocalypse. Nobody noticed him. Blood was flowing down his arm and dripping onto the floor, but he barely felt the pain. It didn't seem to belong to his body, as if he were a puppet guided by strings.

 _It must be the shock_ , he reflected.

He had hidden in a secret passageway when the other Slytherin students were escorted off campus. Then he had disillusioned himself and tried to find Luna. He had protected her during the battle, shielded her from curses, and taken out many of her assailants.

But then, right before the end, he'd lost her. And that scared the living daylights out of him. What if she was hurt? What if she was dead?

Voldemort was gone – as Theo had predicted. But the war was not over, at least not for Theo. He didn't feel the peace he had imagined he would. He didn't feel safe, or protected, or innocent.

He felt ruined.

The evening sun slanted through shattered windows, painting golden rays into the dust-filled air. Shards of broken windows crunched under the soles of Theo's feet as he ventured deeper into the destroyed castle, down the third floor corridor. Here, a part of the ceiling had caved in and debris covered the ground.

He might as well have died here, he thought, his knees buckling beneath him. He was lost. His father was dead, Draco was missing, and Luna could be either.

"Theodore?" a voice suddenly asked, and his head snapped up towards it.

Dancing rather than walking towards him was none other than Luna herself. He blinked. And blinked again. She was still there. Aquamarine met cornflower blue.

"Are you hurt?" she asked, kneeling down next to him.

Suddenly, his mouth was dry and his voice didn't seem to obey him. Luna looked at him searchingly for a second, then gave up waiting for a reply and instead simply waved her wand over his arm.

" _Ferula_."

Instantly, the cut was covered by a clean, white bandage that contrasted starkly with his grimy and torn clothes.

Luna looked exhausted but unhurt. There were traces of tears on her cheeks, and Theo's chest tightened.

"Thank you," he choked out, attempting to smile at her.

Her returning smile caught him off guard. It was dazzlingly beautiful, like a ray of sunshine in a universe of darkness. And suddenly, his mouth acted before his brain could catch up with it. "Would you go out with me someday?"

Gasping, he clapped his hands over his mouth. He'd screwed up and picked the worst possible moment for such a question. However, when he looked at her, she just grinned.

"I thought you'd never ask," Luna said, her voice only slightly dreamy.

"Do - do you mean that?" he stuttered, disbelief painted on his face. "I mean, is that a yes?"

She blinked at him like it's the most natural thing in the world. "Of course."

Theo's heart skipped a beat. Did she just agree to a date? It seemed like a new beginning in world that had just ended. Here, on the third floor corridor, where before there was nothing but death, life blossomed. So the magic of hope, of belief, must work, after all.

"When?" he blurted out.

She chuckled lightly.

"Sorry, I mean…" He shook his head. "I've waited this long, yet suddenly now I'm impatient."

Luna didn't reply, but grabbed his hand, pulling him up from the floor. Once he was on his feet, she never moved to let go of his hand.

* * *

 ***Written for the QLFC, Season 6, Round Eight.***

 **Position: Chaser 3**

 **Position Prompt: Theme - believing in the unbelievable even when nobody else does.**

 **Optional Prompts: (theme) falling in love with the wrong person/thing, (dialogue) "I've waited this long, yet suddenly now I'm impatient.", (colour) aquamarine**

 **Title: The colour of Trust**

 **Word Count: 1, 334**

* * *

 ** _*Written for THC, Year 3, Round 5*_**

 ** _House: Ravenclaw  
_** ** _Year: 1  
_** ** _Category: Standard -_** Additional Requirement: Feature a member from your house  
 ** _Prompts:_** [Setting] Third floor Corridor  
 ** _W/C: 1,334_**


End file.
